


Sweet Cheeks

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, M/M, Male Menstruation, Menstruation, Omega!America, Omegaverse, Period Cramps, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, alpha!england, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:41:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10395660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: "Do male omegas menstruate?" That's the stupidest question America had ever heard.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still on hiatus, still trying to put my life back together. For the mean time, have some porn.  
> Warnings for male menstruation and period cramps.

                Do male omegas menstruate?

That’s the stupidest question America had ever heard, almost ignorant.

Omegas in general---male, female, and those in-between---reproduce. Of course, they fucking bleed when they aren’t pregnant after a heat.

It would regularly takes about three days at minimum, happens after every unsuccessful heats with or without an alpha. Sometimes, omegas bleed for a week, the flow heavy from the first day up to the last.

America was one of those unfortunate omegas who had to suffer the seven days of hell.

Germany---the land mass, not the guy who shouts in their world summits for double-time and all that stuffy crap---was terribly cold on Novembers and it affected America’s uterus, causing it to throb and make it hard for the nation to focus for any much longer than five minutes, his face paling and the nerves in his body clenching tight.

Germany---the guy who shouts in their world summits for double-time and all that stuffy crap, not the landmass this time---stands up from his seat, his hands slamming on the oak desk hard that it makes North and South Italy stop from their ramblings on the opposite table to look at the commotion, the rest of the nations present in the room included, at the upcoming spectacle.

At this point in time, anyone is desperate for something to distract them from doing actual work and with Germany glaring daggers at America, who was on his way out the door in the middle of Russia’s presentation.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Germany demands, his tone promising hours and hours of lecture later after today’s schedule.

Usually, America doesn’t give a flying crap on what anyone will think if he decides to ditch, no one really cares anymore at this point.

But damn it, he’s in fucking pain right now and the thought that he will be leaving here with everyone thinking that he’s doing it for no good reason pisses him off.

“I’m fucking bleeding from my man-cunt because my uterus is scraping itself, I need a fucking break!” His words leave the entire room dead-silent---even Russia’s cold-ass stare that doesn’t quite smile is not making a noise right now and Germany’s face suddenly pales and America thinks it’s the funniest thing ever that he would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so angry and in pain.

When no one else says anything, he looks around the room, sees every faces---amusement, disgust, embarrassment, or a mix of them all---before quickly settling on something familiar. It looks at him blankly, the expression almost curious but not in the least concerned and it pisses him off, his hands shaking on his sides.

Then, after a second thought, he flips the bastard off. To his disappointment, it incited no reaction save for France, sitting next to the guy, who crows.

He doesn’t bother to see how the other would react to that, his back already facing the world as he slams the door shut.

 

                If he could, he would have been in his hotel room now, the heater full-blast as he wraps himself in thick blankets for extra warmth, the thought of his skin hot and damp with sweat enough to make his mouth water as he curls into himself on the sofa in the lounge room.

This is the farthest he could get until the pain forced him to find somewhere comfortable to rest, his hips aching, like they were detached from his own body as it swells on its own. It’s like his entire body is angry at him for refusing to be pregnant.

He huffs at the thought, throwing his glasses on the nearby coffee table as he kicks his shoes off his feet, leaving his socks on for warmth before making himself more comfortable on the couch, closing his eyes as he had his arms wrapped around where his uterus would be. It needs to be warmed.

He didn’t know he fell asleep until he feels cold hands touching his cheek, wiping the damp sweat on his forehead and neck before cool lips brush the top of his brows, inhaling.

“The meeting’s over, I’ve got your things. Let’s bring you to your room, shall we?” It says.

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who it was, to tell that those lips are smiling as those hands grab a hold of his to help him up. He winces as he feel neck throb, sleeping curled up, squeezed in the corner of the couch is not a good idea, no matter how much warmth he had because of it.

He yawns, then raises his feet when he felt hands guiding them up to slide his shoes back in. Once perfectly settled, his ankles were tapped fondly, “Let’s go.” It says.

“My glasses,” America says before he feels the cool metal frames settle on his nose, the ends hooking behind his ears. He uses a finger to fix the stray strand of hair to got messed up when England shoved it gently onto his face.

For some reason, his brain is telling him he’s supposed to be angry at the man right now, but for what, his brain draws blank, so he pays it no mind and nods at England instead, grabbing the older’s outstretched hand as they walk out the room, out the building and into a cab.

They leave for America’s hotel.

 

                As expected, it was terribly cold inside his hotel room.

He felt his body shake the moment they step foot, warmth all but a distant dream. England was surprisingly quick to notice the omega’s discomfort as he immediately approaches the controls, turning the heat up to max before pulling America’s coat off of him, then his jacket before pushing him into the bed, the blanket immediately pulled up to his chin.

“I’m not sick, you know.” America hears himself say when he felt England’s hand settle on his forehead again, the older nation frowning when it felt cooler, sweat beading.

“Just in pain,” America assures the older. England’s brows furrow in concern.

“Period cramps?” America shakily nods, gratefully raising the covers up to his face but it hits his glasses that were still perched on his nose. He clicks his tongue, angrily throwing the covers off his face and he hears England chuckle before he feels the glasses being pulled of gently off his face.

Then England kisses him on the head. “Go get some rest, then.” He leans away, his hands settling on the bed before raising himself up---

“What’s wrong?” England asks, an eyebrow raised at him then to his arm that was being held by America, stopping him from pulling off the bed.

“Stay?” England blinks down at him, like he had said the strangest thing. It makes America frown.

“Just,” He tugs at the sleeves of England’s jacket, so flawless and crumple…less.

Why is he so perfect, goddamnit.

“Come here.” He shifts in the bed, to make some space before pulling the nation down with him, until their bodies press together and America shivers when he realises England’s body is too cold. The other, as America had begrudgingly realised, had noticed the tremors in his body and tried to move away, but hell, like he would let him.

“I said come here,” He grumbles, pulling harder. England obliged faster than he had expected, his arms wrapping around America’s form comfortably and it makes the omega sigh in bliss, his back to the other’s chest.

He feels the alpha wrapped around him inhale from his neck, chuckling fondly, his teeth flat as they run over his smooth skin.

“Miss me?”

America huffs, “ _You_ did. Last month.” He frowns, “Again.”

He felt the alpha go still, silent and America remembers why he’s _supposed_ to be angry with the other.

“Don’t you want to? With me.” He felt himself say, his voice terrifying low for someone who doesn’t have an indoor voice and he knows that England can tell it too.

When he was met with silence, something heavy settles down his gut, heavy and cold and somehow, it worsens the pain in his lower back, his uterus throbbing worse than it did before. He moves to pull away, only to be pulled back, his back pressed tight to England’s chest, whose warm breath ghosted over his nape, bringing shivers down his spine.

“Of course, I do.”

America wanted to say those words were lies, his voice hitching and his throat constricting but those hands wrapped around him---tightening---says otherwise. “But why?” Was what he says instead, his eyes prickling with tears, the throb below his gut a testament to England’s broken promise.

 _You promised_.

“I was scared,” He hears England breath out behind him. It makes him blink, the tears dripping down his cheeks. He shuffles from England’s hold, to turn around and look at the other face-to-face and he asks, wide-eyed, “Why?”

Instead of answering his question, England smiles at his face, his hand coming up to brush the pads of his thumb on America’s cheeks, below the eyes, to wipe at the tears.

The sight of America’s large eyes and the absence of his wire-framed glasses made him look young, America remembers England telling him a couple of times. It reminds him that he’s still but a boy, despite his size and his development, compared to England who had seen the world at its best and its worst.

“I just am,” England says, his answer to America’s question finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence.

America tells him about it and the older just laughs, says it’s because he’s young, that’s he’s impatient like that.

“Is that why? Why you didn’t, because you think I’m too young for you?” His little observation leaves the other speechless for a moment, mouth agape as he stares at America’s face before shaking his head, muttering some old words that had been nothing but eaten away by time, left to rot and die in the tongues of the old and the ancient, such as this nation that has their arms wrapped around America like a protection from the evils of the world.

“England, tell me.” America insists when the other seemed to refuse to answer but he just smiles, kissing America full on the lips that the omega couldn’t help but reciprocate, his face heating up when he feels England’s tongue slide inside his mouth, to taste his tongue and run through his teeth.

“England,” He gasps when their lips separate with a pop, his tongue being sucked out of his own mouth, to be pulled into England’s. He inhales when he feels England’s tongue on his neck, the blankets he was wrapped in being slowly removed by careful hands like they were unwrapping a present.

By the time England had the last sheet peeled off, America had been a hot mess, his skin damp and buzzing with heat, room saturated with omega’s arousal and he was horrified to watch England above him---his long legs on either sides of the omega’s hips---take a long shuddering inhale, his eyes closing in ecstasy.

England hisses when America slaps his thighs, his face red as he hisses back “Stop that, you pervert!”

England laughs, his tone amused as his eyes come up to meet America’s and the sight leaves him breathless as those eyes peer down at him through a thick layer of lashes with such warmth.

Then England’s hand closes around the erection tenting in his pants and the magic is gone.

“Pervert,” He grouses, his breath hitches when England strokes him through the fabric in just the _right_ way.

Those eyes connect with his again, pensive and all semblance of play gone. “But you want this?” He says and America knows he meant his hand on his crotch, lightly stroking his erection.

He huffs, tears threatened to prickle from his eyes again but he steadies his breathing, wards it off lest he sends the wrong signals and England stop his little touches. “You need to ask?”

England’s mouth twitches, half-smiling and half-about to say something. What that other half is, America might never know as England leans down and catches his mouth into a hot, steamy kiss, their tongues poking and probing with less finesse than last time, leaving America’s chin wet with their spit.

His pants were pulled out with shaky hands, then there goes his briefs and suddenly England pauses.

America winces when he feels England’s two cold fingers poke gently at his opening, threading lightly before pushing gently. There’s a gasp from the other as his fingers were easily swallowed up and America feels himself go shy again when it makes a slick, wet sound as it pushes in completely, up to the last knuckle.

England’s body had always been colder than an average human and to have that buried inside him, where his body needed the most warmth, was painful.

God, it hurts.

“A-ah, ow,” He didn’t realise he had groaned, his hips twitching as he tried to move, anything to make those appendages inside him be anything but painful to no avail. England doesn’t seem to hear him too and instead just pulled out his fingers slightly, before pushing it in again, slowly and carefully and just as painful that it makes America wince at the intrusion.

“Ah,” He says, louder and finally, to his relief, it gets the alpha’s attention above him, whose head had started to sink down his legs, to where he’s currently poking his fingers at, his free hand grasping America’s leg in a gentle hold to keep his legs open, the pants and his underwear still dangling on either limbs, making the deed of stretching his legs open a difficult task.

He points at his pants and underwear, panting. He can feel the temperature of his body heating up, his skin damp with sweat. “Ah, at least take it off before shoving your fingers in?”

“Ow,” he winces again when England’s fingers inside him make the slightest twitch as the alpha eyes America’s clothes like they were the strangest things ever before blinking, his eyes alight with recognition and understanding. He nods, shakily, his face heating up in embarrassment, ”Right, sorry.”

America’s breath was caught in his throat. This was probably the first time he had seen England so taken by pheromones, his head all but full of instinct and fog and arousal for the first time. What’s worse is that he’s apologising, _in bed_.

England never apologises. _Not in bed, anyway_ , the words ringing in his head had sounded strangely like Portugal; the alpha’s blessed out sighs grating on America’s nerves.

“I’m sorry---“England says again, louder, very apologetic, to America’s growing horror. He can tell too, with the way the older’s fingers started to tremble inside him and the hands on his leg gripping too tensely.

America opens his mouth, to ask just _why England is being so apologetic today_ , it’s really worrying when you’ve literally never seen the man in question apologize in your life, but of course, England speaks again, cutting him off, “---I, I’m just…” He ends up trailing and America huffs a pained exhale when England pushes his fingers in deeper, twisting them and---

“What are you doing?” He wails---finally---after what felt like hours of pain and pain and _fucking teasing_ , hitting his head on the pillows in frustration. “Ow! I said it hurts, stop it!”

He was about to kick England, he really was until England thrusts his fingers just right and touch _something_.

“Fuck,” He ends up whimpering, his head flopping on the pillow, his eyes closing as he relishes in the little spark of pleasure after _waiting for so long_.

“Yeah, just like that…” He encourages, kicking off his pants and underwear as he does so because England had forgotten. Figures.

“Do you like that?” England had the gall to ask, when America was already sighing out in bliss below him, encouraging he go faster so he can forget the slight throb of ache when he pulls out.

“You gotta ask?” He answers anyway, pressing his hips into England’s fingers as he does so. It brings a delighted smile on the older, all teeth and fluster. England can be such a girl sometimes, which was a total wonder when he was born an alpha and treats everyone less than himself, even those in the same standing as he.

 _It’s always been alphas for him, you know? Hated omegas like little, gritty insects beneath his feet_. The words echo in his head, the voice sounds suspiciously like France, patronising and pitiful.

“Fuck me,” America finds himself saying, forcing the intrusive thoughts away---far, far away---because right now, he has England. England wanted _him_ and no one else.

He presses his hips harder against England’s fingers, his walls tightening around those still cold-as-fuck appendages and he inwardly smiles, preening when he sees those eyes darken in arousal at that.

“You want me to fuck you? Right now?” England asks, burying his fingers deep into America and stopping once he’s up to the last knuckle before pulling slightly out, the friction making America wince, “Ow,” he mutters, and the smile on his face replaced by a frown.

“What are you doing?” He asks the alpha before groaning, “Aw, fuck---!” when another finger joins the previous two inside him.

“Yeah,” England bites his lip. America whimpers when the fingers started picking up its pace once again, fucking him hard, England’s fingers brushing him _just right_. “You like that?” He pants out at America, his face flushed and his form dishevelled but that doesn’t make him look any less beautiful in America’s eyes, when he’s looking at him with such an expression that makes any omega just want to cry.

His throat tightens the closer he reaches his peak but he tries his hardest to reciprocate lest England stop, trying his hardest to keep himself loose lest he come sooner than he had wanted to. “I-I do.”

England---beautiful, handsome, perfect England---smiles.

Then he stops, much to America’s dismay. England must’ve known this too---could tell from the change of America’s scent in the air---because he kneads America’s inner thighs with his free hand and says, “You said you want me to fuck you?”

America nods fervently, opening his legs wider to further prove his point. He winces when England gently pulls out his fingers. The sight of England’s fingers both leave them breathless, the words stuck in their throats at they both stare at them in disbelief, mouths gaping open.

“…oh fuck.”

“Huh, I forgot about that, didn’t I?”

They say, one in mortification and the other in wonder. America watches with growing shame as England spread his fingers, the thick mix of slick and blood sticking to the appendages.

If America had felt nothing but horror at the moment, England had felt differently.

Very different. America was sure that no alpha in their right mind would put their blood---menstrual blood, at that---soaked fingers to their nose to inhale its scent before plunging them into their own mouth to suck.

“England, what the fuck are you doing?”

He was paid no mind as the other continued to suck, his tongue running skilfully along his own fingers in a way that would make any sensible person look away at how terribly sensual it was. Even America was left speechless, the words stuck to his throat as he continued to lie on his back, his legs spread wide open with England situated between them, his attention focused on America’s blood on his fingers, his mouth sucking it clean.

When he was done, he pulls his fingers off his mouth with a pop, an unreadable expression on his face and alpha pheromones that scream sex is being released into the air.

He licks his lips; eyeing America’s opening with such hunger it made the omega close his legs on instinct, only to be held down by powerful arms and locked in place as England presses his face into America’s arse, his hands on either cheek to spread them open.

Face burning hot; blood running cold through his veins, America tries to close his legs despite the fact that England being between them will be futile. “E-england, wait--!”

Then England’s wet tongue pokes inside, prodding deep, thrusting deliciously into his wet hole and he almost screams.

“Oh, fuck! England…England, wait,” he whimpers, his  hands shooting out to push at England’s head but only manages to go as far as to touch his messy mop of hair, his fingers digging into the alpha’s scalp and gripping on to his hair, seeking for leverage when that tongue thrusts in again, aiming to go deeper and driving America crazy.

If he had been complaining about the cold and the pain before, now he isn’t. He’s on fire, his body thrumming in pleasure. The air is being saturated with mixed scents of alpha and omega arousal that everyone who can smell it outside can tell that an alpha and an omega are obviously coupling in the room inside.

America can feel his face burn hotter when he started hearing the wet noises England makes as he alternates between licking him clean and plunging his tongue back into America’s hole to fuck him.

“England, ugh…” He whimpers, tears prickling his eyes. To be doing this with England while he’s…bleeding, it makes him feel so wrong and dirty.

The thought doesn’t do anything but make him cry harder with arousal as England continues his pace because fuck, if that wasn’t _hot_.

A strangled scream breaks through his throat once England’s hand makes contact with America’s neglected erection and he comes, pressing his face into the pillows underneath him to muffle his cries.

England all but groans, dragging his tongue up to America’s softening cock to lick him clean, not a drop was spared or wasted. He licks his hands after that before trailing up to America’s face, gently coaxing the omega into taking his face off the pillows to peck at his lips, short and chaste before kissing him again, deeper. America groans softly into England’s mouth, his back arching into the alpha’s chest when he tastes himself on England’s mouth---his own come and blood with a hint of something sweet that was England’s mouth.

When they pull away, he makes a subtle glance at the older nation’s crotch. “How about you?” He presses his hand and was surprised that he had felt nothing.

England chuckles softly, his breathing coming up as short, little pants, his cheeks a beautiful shade of pink and he pecks America’s cheek before plopping right next to him, pulling America to snuggle into his arms at which the other was more than happy to comply.

“Your pleasure is mine, my darling.”

America’s brows furrow, eyeing England’s lower half. “You mean…?”

England laughs, “No, not exactly.”

There was a moment of silence, save for their heavy breathes before America finds his voice to speak again. “You didn’t get hard at all,” he comes into a conclusion. England’s silence has said more than it ever could and America felt his stomach sink, his heart sending painful pangs in his chest.

“Is that why you didn’t---“

“—No, oh dear, no.” To America’s surprise, he heard England laugh, amusement evident in his tones as he pulls America closer than ever, kissing the top of his head and stroking his arms. He presses his nose to America’s neck, inhaling. “I told you, I was scared.”

America smiles wryly, “Of impotency?”

America’s smile grows wider, amused, as it pulls a huff of laughter from England’s mouth, sending puffs of warm air on the crook of America’s neck. “Me, getting impotent? I’m not _that_ old, America.”

A pause. “This body isn’t, more like.” England adds playfully.

Such is the convenience of being inhuman.

None of England’s current good humour is getting to America, however as he frowns, that heavy feeling still settling heavy inside him, cold and dark, eating him whole.

“So, it’s just because I’m an omega, isn’t it?” In any other day, the thought would barely---never---cross America’s mind, despite the facts hitting him in the face; the nations—alphas and the old---telling him so, that England is as gay as you can get, he only likes alphas, hated the omegas---from their smells to their very biology.

England finds omegas---in general---appalling.

“You can just say so, you know.” He finds himself saying, his voice tight in his throat. There’s silence from the body next to his and when he blinks, he feels his body get turned until his back presses into the bed below them, England hovering over him, his face distorted into open concern and worry.

America blinks in confusion.

Then he blinks some more and realises that something is dripping from his eyes.

He had started crying.

“What’s wrong?” England asks; an edge of panic hinting from his scent. America takes a shuddering inhale, turning away as he rubs at his face roughly with the sleeves of his arms. England sees and starts pulling his arms away from his face, “Don’t do that, you’ll hurt your face.  What’s wrong? Tell me.”

“No, _you_ tell me.” America fiercely turns to face the other, his eyes wide, pressing. The sight itself makes England pause, hovering over America with his hands on either of the omega’s wrists.

“You tell me---England---right now, why didn’t you come?” Some part of America’s mind told him that he would probably need to further elaborate but with the way England’s eyes dulled with foreboding dread and the air being suddenly filled with unease, America can clearly tell, no doubt, that England well knows what America is asking for.

What America is confronting him about right now.

When a moment passes with nothing but silence from the alpha, America grabs his collar and pulls him closer to his face, “Well?” The tears had long dried, replaced by bitterness and pangs of unsaid rejection.

To his surprise, England sighs, deflating. He plops lamely back on the bed, pulling America close, almost rocking the both of them together until America’s breathing had relaxed as England hummed a dull tune.

“I told you, I was scared.” England says after a while. America was about to open his mouth, to speak some more but England cuts him through it.

“Of children, America. I’m afraid of children.”

It makes the area between America’s brows furrow in confusion. “Children? But---“

_You raised me, you had colonies! Canada, Australia, New Zealand…_

The words died in his throat when England seemed to catch on to what America was on about because he laughs, yet there was no sign of amusement evident in his voice as he replies, breathing out slowly, “Exactly.”

His short but curt answer silenced America immediately. The gears in his head turning ever so slowly but at the same time, quickly as they run through every possible answers and outcomes.

When he finally found the most probable one, he speaks, “Was it my fault?” He finds himself saying, his voice low and meek. It only pulls a hum from the alpha behind him, who had returned to nuzzling his neck. America felt himself tremble, remembering that hot mouth inside him when England’s warm puffs of breath ghosted over the skin of his nape when he chuckled, low and sensual---it was so typical of England, really.

Then England releases a shaky exhale, as if gathering his thoughts. America can feel England’s mouth opening, about to answer America’s question but then…he closes them, opting instead to press his nose closer to the crook of America’s neck, where his scent is the strongest.

“It was…” England begins, the words coming out of his mouth in slow little dribbles, like he’s thinking them over first before letting them go free for America to hear.

“More of mine, really.” England exhales on his neck before inhaling, “I left myself too open for you all to tear into it.”

America was silent, the memories of the past long gone suddenly flicking into his mind, playing like an old, silent movie. All moving, flickering pictures but no sound. It was deafening, nonetheless, his ears buzzing.

“Colonies and children are different though,” England says, his voice pulling America back to reality and he feels the older nation press his chest closer to his back, breathing.

“Like I said, the fault was all mine. I should have accepted early from the beginning that colonies will sooner or later grow to become independent. That’s just reality for you,” He chuckles on America’s neck, making America shiver and his breath hitch.

“Children, however…” America tenses, leaning closer.

“They’re born. From omegas.” He can feel England swallow. “They don’t pop out of the ground like colonies do because they are humans. They grow and they die.” England shakes his head, breathing out. “I don’t think I can accept the concept of death for my children yet, America.”

“I’m afraid of that.” England’s breath seemed to hitch, one of his arms wrapped around America reaches for his stomach, where his uterus is supposed to be and stays there, hovering yet touching.

England’s arm tenses when it was covered with America’s own warmer one. He pulls it close to his mouth and kisses the back of his hand, whispering into his skin, “But you want them?”

“You have no idea, my darling.” England breathes out, like the weight has finally left him and now he’s free, floating in space and covered in warmth.

With America.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write porn where England sucks America’s period blood. LOL
> 
> And yes, England’s gay. As in he prefers fellow alphas than omegas. I had an hour or so of epiphany that “Hey, isn’t A/B/O just a cheap way to make gay ships straight???” then science side of my head butted in and told me, “females are naturally soft and curvy and have breasts and wide hips because THEY GIVE BIRTH TO BABIES—omega---and males are big and shit because testosterone—alpha! You’re technically making them straight! And slick???? Does that mean male omegas have vaginas? What about female alphas? Do they have dicks? What happens to uteruses?”
> 
> In the end, I told my two other selves to stfu and wrote this despite their voices protesting in my head, trying to take control. I managed and here we are. I’m still feeling weird about A/B/O verses now though, because of aforementioned dialogue. Doesn’t mean there won’t be any A/B/O aus from me anytime soon.  
> I was supposed to post this like a week or so ago but my brother got me hooked into mobile legends so now I waste my free time cussing at lags and shitty parties. I get disappointed in my team when we lose and I get MVP.  
> Btw, before we all say goodbye; by hiatus, I mean I won’t be working on any fics in the erotomania series for a while. Anyone reading my other fics not in the series are all safe to keep going, because I’ll be working on those little by little when I’m feeling more better. Whenever that comes around.


End file.
